Whispers and Droplets
by BedknobsAndBroomsticks
Summary: A series of romantic one-shots about some of my favorite pairings, characters, and scenes. Overall rating is M to be safe, but rating will vary from story to story. New: "Highland Grass"- Betrothed to the brother of the man she truly loves, Rowena Ravenclaw escapes for some welcome peace, only to be joined by even more welcome company. (T/M)
1. Old Book Smell- HG and GW

_Welcome to Whispers and Droplets, a compilation of fluff, drabble, and other light one-shots about some of my favorite characters and pairings…_

Old Book Smell

"I still don't get it."

"Still, George? Come on, it's not that difficult."

His stiff wooden chair creaked as George Weasley leaned back and rubbed his eyes. "You 'come on,' Hermione, we've been at it for hours. Can't we have a break?"

"I don't think so, mister, your exam is tomorrow and you're not remotely ready." Hermione raised her eyebrow at him. "Are you?"

"I am!" George insisted.

"Is that so?" Hermione smiled. "What were the underlying causes of the 1432 Goblin Rebellion then?"

"Ah yes, the Goblin Rebellion," George replied, leaning forward again. Making a snooty face, he jokingly stroked his chin. "Well, as every sod knows, the Goblins rebelled because…they…wanted more sausage with their breakfast of course." He gestured with his finger. "Which was of course a great injustice, because Breakfastan the Bad said they couldn't have any at all. And really, who wouldn't kick off about that?"

Hermione laughed. He loved it when she laughed, it sounded like little bells ringing through the nearly empty library. "You're hopeless aren't you?"

"Yes ma'am. Maybe Binns will have a sense of humor." George grinned. "But seriously, thank you for trying. Mum will go sick at me if I fail."

"You won't fail," Hermione said, matter-of-factly. "You're smarter than you give yourself credit for."

"Nah, I'm proper thick," George said, laughing. "I'll get it eventually. Can we have a break, though? It's dark and sad and smelly in here."

Hermione laughed again. "You don't come to the library very much, do you?"

"Ah, is that what this is?"

"And that 'smell,' George, is what books smell like."

"Give over."

"I know you've never touched one, but you'll have to trust me on it." Hermione smiled at him. "Yes, we can take a break. I have an essay I need to work on for DADA. Meet me back here in fifteen minutes?"

"Well, I could stay with you," George offered.

"I thought it was too dark and sad and smelly in here," she laughed.

"Well…yeah, all the more reason no one should have to endure it on their own, you see. Really it's a chivalrous gesture."

"Oh right, I see," Hermione said, knowingly. "In that case you can help me find this book I'm after."

He nodded. "Sure thing, Professor Granger, ma'am."

"Don't call me ma'am."

"But 'Professor' is okay?"

"If you like." She winked. "Come on, it's out in one of the back stacks."

She pushed her chair out and stood, George followed suit. He watched her bouncy chestnut curls disappear around the corner of a bookshelf and his stomach gave an unexpected and _decidedly_ unwelcome flutter. _What was that?_ He thought. He hadn't really ever considered about Hermione in _that_ way. Sure, she was pretty when she smiled. And _god_ intelligent women were attractive. But she was a friend of Ron's. A friend of his. Just a friend.

And yet the entire time she'd been helping him study they'd been laughing. Joking. Talking in that way that more-than-friends do. Were they flirting? George wasn't sure. He didn't even know if _he_ meant to be, let alone if she was flirting back.

"Well come on, then!" Hermione's face popped back around the corner and George realized he hadn't followed, only thought. His stomach flopped again and he wished it would stop. He'd been thoroughly rejected by Alicia Spinnet a few months back, and was certainly not ready to repeat the experience.

"Right, sorry." He laughed and followed behind her. They made their way through the maze of dark, wooden bookshelves and through a door to the back of the library. It was even dimmer in there, and the books were haphazardly piled. All system of cataloguing had gone out the window what must have been centuries ago. It was a mess of leather bindings, random pages, and the ever-present smell.

"Okay, it should be somewhere in this shelf," Hermione said, pointing. "That's what I've narrowed it down to, at least. We're looking for the _Fifteen Methoeds of Lethifolde Repellashun._ "

"Sounds a thrill a minute," George laughed.

Hermione shot him a look. "I'm sure it's actually very interesting." For a moment George was afraid he'd offended her, but she gave him a smile and off they went. His eyes scanned title after title. He picked out and examined books where the binding had worn away. At one point he pulled one out and a rat scampered out from behind it, followed by a shower of half-eaten pages. But at long last, in the top corner of the shelf, a gold embossed title on a cracked spine caught his eye.

"Got it!" He announced proudly, retrieving the book. Blowing years' worth of dust off its cover, he handed it to Hermione.

"Thanks, George, I really appreciate it. I've been looking for it back here for ages."

"Ages? How long have you been working on this essay?"

She blushed. "Well I just like to get a head start is all."

"I admire that."

"You don't need to flatter me," she said.

"No, I do, really," George said earnestly. "Sometimes I wish I could be like you."

"George—"

But before she could finish, he was kissing her. A light, soft, quick kiss. It happened before he even knew what he was doing. He flushed beet-red. He hadn't meant to, the urge had just overtaken him. He wasn't even completely sure why. _Stupid,_ he thought. _Stupid, stupid, what did you do that for. Look at her. What on earth were you thinking? You've gone and ruined everything, dickhead._

"I—shit. I'm sorry. I don't know why I did that," he stammered, eyes on the floor. "That was dumb."

Hermione giggled. He had never heard her giggle before. "Um…" He looked at her. She had gone red as well. "It's okay. But um…maybe we should stick to the studying."

"Yeah, of course…I—I'm really sorry."

"Until later anyway."

"What?"

"Once you've finished studying the Goblin Rebellion. Then we can have a _proper_ break."

"You mean—"

"You know what I mean," she said. She kissed him on the cheek and smiled. "Back to work, Weasley."

"You know how to keep me on my toes, Professor."

She disappeared around a corner once again, heading back for their study spot. George let out the breath he felt like he'd been holding since he kissed her. He smiled to himself. Maybe studying wasn't so bad after all. _Still hate that smell, though._


	2. Highland Grass- SS and RR

_Welcome to Whispers and Droplets, a compilation of fluff, drabble, and other light one-shots about some of my favorite characters and pairings…_

Highland Grass

Rowena flopped in the emerald Highland grass, white linen dress billowing around her. It was the most gorgeous day, not a cloud in a perfect blue sky. The sun kissed her cheeks, her neck, her collarbone. She felt she had not seen it in months. A cool breeze played with the waves of her long, dark hair, finally free from its manicured trappings. What a joy it was just to be outside, Aynworth Castle nothing more than a blur in the distance. Away from Mother and Father. Away from the ladies in waiting, the snooty guests, the rules.

Away as well from Edric, her tutor. Why couldn't Father see that her own magical knowledge and skill had already far surpassed his own? She was twenty now, tutors were for children. She could perform any spell, craft any potion, read any rune. She hated Edric. Hated the way he condescended to her, treated her as his inferior because she was a woman. And she _hated_ the way he looked at her. How he put his hand on her knee. She could not wait for him to be gone.

She sighed and ran a blade of grass between her fingers. How terribly oppressive everything had become. It seemed an instant ago she was allowed to run around barefoot, turning cups into toads and raiding the kitchens. Now she had to be a lady, behave properly. Marry. She did not want to get married, and she certainly did not want to marry _him._ Her father had explained it was what was best for the family. To have an alliance with the Slytherins. Why two grown men could not simply _agree_ to have an alliance was beyond her. She took no joy from being a pawn in their political game. She had her own aspirations, thank you kindly. To make matters worse, the family and their retainers had been staying with her family in Aynworth for over a month now.

Balthazar Slytherin was so _old._ He was nearly fifteen years her senior, constantly disgruntled, displeased, and unkind. A good-looking man still, and very rich. But that was not enough of a reason to marry him. The House of Ravenclaw had been close to the House of Slytherin for many years, and Balthazar had never been kind to her—even when she was a child. Why, now, should she become his wife? The reasons not to far out-weighed any sort of alliance.

"Rowena?"

"Speaking of reasons not to," she murmured.

"Pardon?"

She opened her eyes, the figure now before her coming into focus. "Sorry, Sal, I've been daydreaming again." She smiled.

"Ah, standard practice then." Salazar grinned and flopped down next to her in the grass. "Are you alright? You've not been yourself the last week."

She turned her head, meeting pale blue eyes blazing under a shock of black hair. "Sal. Did you come all the way out here to ask me silly questions?"

"I rather thought so."

"I mean no offense to your darling brother but—"

Salazar cut her off with a snort. "Ro, we both know my brother is anything but darling. He's a nightmare."

"Your words, not mine." Rowena smiled sadly. "What are we going to do, Sal? This can't go on you know."

"Are you referring to your impending wedding? Or something else?" He leaned over and gently kissed her forehead. He looked down into her deep brown eyes. "Hm?"

"Oh, stop it," she replied, swatting at his shoulder.

"Why?" he asked, this time kissing her cheek.

"Sal, really. I don't know what to do."

Salazar looked at her. "You think we should stop this?"

"Well I don't well see how we can carry on." Rowena sat up. "I'm meant to be wed to your brother in a few weeks. We've already transgressed by sneaking around up to this point. What about when I'm a married woman? I'd be turned out on the streets for what I've done already. I shudder to think what Balthazar would do if he found his wife with his brother." Salazar sat up as well, placing his arm around her shoulder. She leaned into him. "You know this wedding is not what I want."

"Have you told your father? I mean really spoken to him about it? He is a reasonable man is he not? He wants to see you happy."

Rowena scoffed. "He cares far more about his precious alliance and the opinions of _your_ father than he does about what I want. I've spoken to him, but I can hardly reveal the real reason of my reluctance, can I? 'No father, I cannot marry Balthazar. You see I've taken up with his brother.' It would hardly have the desired outcome." Now it was her turn to kiss him, her lips softly grazing his neck.

"Maybe not." He sighed. "Do you remember the first time?"

"The first time?"

"When we were fourteen?" he laughed. "It seems like a lifetime ago, doesn't it? When your family came to stay at Thornwick. Your sister dared us to kiss."

Rowena laughed. "Such a scandal it seemed like, then."

"I seem to recall we snuck off later and did it some more." Salazar grinned. "No one ever knew."

"No, they didn't." She smiled wistfully. "But then my family left and you went off cavorting with that French girl," she said, poking him in the ribs. "Lucille de Lyon. You broke my little heart in two."

"Which is why I've come back to mend it," he said, squeezing her tightly.

"Ew, Sal," she laughed. "I've never heard something so cliché come out of your mouth."

"Just trying to deflect from the fact that I was, well, something of a dog," he joked, kissing the back of her neck. His lips lingered, trailing around to her ear then down to her shoulder. Across they traced to her collarbone, her jaw, her cheek, before finally meeting her lips. His hand came to the side of her face, fingers in her loose hair as she returned his kiss. He laid her down once again in the soft grass. Her hands pulled on his waist as their tongues met. The sweet breeze swirled around them as they embraced, cool on skin that was rapidly becoming hot.

Salazar's fingers wandered down the front of her dress.

"Sal," Rowena gasped, breaking away from his lips. "We'll get caught."

"Like we were the other night?" he asked, kissing her neck again.

A few nights ago in a mad fit of passion they had stolen away to an empty room in the servants' chambers and locked the doors. They had not, until then, dared to trespass such as this. She was to remain unsullied until marriage, but the pull of lust was far greater than silly expectations. The tiny room had been all bodies and heat, sweat and flailing limbs. Rowena's body shuddered at the memory of his love. It had not been his first time, she knew. Or, rather, could tell from the magic he worked. In those wild moments she could not have cared if the entire serving staff were listening at the keyhole. Many things go on in castles behind closed doors, but none could have been so sweet as Salazar.

They were not caught then and they would not be caught now—the others had all gone to the forest for a hunt. She kissed him again, harder and more passionately. Her hands returned to his clothing, and his to hers. His body pressed against her and she opened to him, soft and sweet.

"I love you, Rowena," he breathed.

"I love you, too. Will we be alright, Sal?"

"I don't know."

"Stay with me."

"I will."


End file.
